Their voices ring like wedding bells.
Concern written in the air;
Frustration felt for miles;
Shaking my bones; oh Lord.
I prayed to God this day wouldn't come,
but I see demons in Momma's eyes;
the Devil in the calendar; marked December in red.

The leaves turn black as we pack,
dancing to the music of trucks and men.
Tape for streamers; boxes, balloons;
the goodbye party I never had.

Their faces hurt most,
saying bye as Daddy yelled from home.
The bustle of New York, unpacked in oil country.
Hurrying to fate; a cancerous grief, stricking lightning in my heart and eye.
Nobody likes me here, let's go back!

The leaves were black when we unpacked,
dancing to the music of trucks and men.
Tape for streamers; boxes, balloons;
the welcome party I never had.